Strangeland
by Asilem.Denae
Summary: CaptHowdy creates a little experiment which pulls him away from his usual way of doing things. The results are not what he expected, and he meets someone he never thought could exist. Rated M for every reason thought of.
1. Home Life

Chapter One ::: Home Life

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Erik looked up from the sketchbook she had been drawing in to focus on the figure that stood in the doorway to her bedroom. Her mother stood there, dressed in a silk black robe that seemed to have been hastily put on as it wasn't tied properly and the fabric was slipping down the older woman's shoulders. Erik noticed the tousled look of her dark hair and the term "sex hair" immediately came to mind.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" her mother repeated again, her voice on the verge of becoming a shout as she tried to make herself heard over the blaring music in the room. Erik simply stared for a moment before turning back to her sketch; a simple drawing of a face with various tattoo images and piercings – it was as if she was testing to see what would look good on a face so that she could maybe get them herself one day.

One moment her iPod was playing "mOBSCENE" by Marilyn Manson before changing to "Suicide is Painless." Then suddenly, there was no music playing at all as a small thud sounded along with the clatter of plastic hitting plastic. Turning her head to see what had happened, Erik pushed herself up from the position she had been in of laying on her stomach across the twin-sized bed. Her baby blue eyes widened in shock and her mouth opened in a silent gasp as she stared at the radio and speakers scattered across the floor beside her dresser; her iPod was nowhere to be found among the pieces. Then the rage tore through her and her eyes narrowed at her mother who was now standing beside the dresser – the obvious culprit of this crime.

"I told you to turn that shit off," the older woman stated simply as if she had done nothing at all.

"Mom!" Erik nearly yelled as she stood from her bed. "What the hell? You didn't tell me anything!" She wanted to swear with every curse word she knew, but she knew respect and had thus learned to control her language when around her mother.

"It's nearly midnight and I don't need to hear this shit when I have to get up early. Do you have any idea what tomorrow is?"

A small spark of hope ignited within her, but she should have known better than to assume that her mother would remember her birthday.

"I have to help with the promotion ceremony tomorrow and then I have to work my fucking ass off all day."

Of course. It was all about the woman's job and never about her daughter. Erik should have known better.

"Stacey?" a muffled voice called from down the hallway.

"I'm coming, John." Stacey gave her daughter a stern glance, almost like a warning to stay silent, before she left the room.

"Yeah, destroy my room then go fuck your asshole boyfriend. Bitch," Erik said, intending the words to be murmured, but her anger had taken over and was making her not care if her mother heard the departing words or not. Apparently her respect had dwindled down and did not go very far anymore.

"What was that?" her mother reappeared in the doorway.

"I said…" there was a brief moment where Erik intended to think of whether she should repeat the words or not, but before she could even begin to think of the consequences, the words were tumbling out of her mouth again. "Go fuck your asshole boyfriend."

She didn't even see her mother crossing the room before she felt the hard slap across her cheek. "How dare you speak to me that way," her mother snarled.

"I got this, babe. Go wait for me in bed," John said, walking into the room and putting his hand on Stacey's shoulder to push her toward the door; she didn't go very far, wanting to see how exactly he was going to take care of this situation. "You wanna talk shit to your mom, little girl?" John took a step toward Erik, but she wouldn't look at him – it sickened her just to think of his balding head, that massive potbelly, and those mean eyes that always seemed to undress her. "Look at me, you little bitch."

But she wouldn't, and this earned her another hard slap across the face; this time it actually stung her cheek. Then he formed his right hand into a tight fist and punched her in the stomach, making her double over before he slapped her again, making her fall back across the bed. Her head slammed against the wall and she thought she saw white spots flash before her eyes – but it didn't hurt that bad for her to see such things, she didn't hit the wall that hard. Or so she thought.

Maybe she had, but she couldn't feel all of the pain coursing through her now; she could only feel bits and pieces of it, as if she was broken and could only feel so many parts of her body. Ever since the abuse had started years ago, she had tried to teach herself how to ignore the pain altogether, but it never entirely worked. Obviously.

"Go get my belt," John said to Stacey who was leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

There was a moment of silence.

"I said to get my fucking belt!" John yelled at her, his own rage building at the lack of her response.

Stacey shook her head slowly, not daring to look at her daughter. "No, John. Remember what happened last time? We can't have that happen again."

Last time. Erik could have laughed if she wasn't feeling so pissed off. Last time John had tried to beat her with his belt, she had tried to run from him and he ended up pushing her down the stairs. The result was a broken right arm and a trip to the hospital. Afterwards, the abuse had still continued, even with her injured arm, but they had never used a belt on her again for fear of what the next result may be.

Growling, John roughly pushed Stacey out of his way before returning to their room. As soon as he was out of sight, Erik stood, the soft white carpet tickling her feet as she moved about the room. She grabbed any money she could find laying about and stuffed it into her Hoodie Bag purse. She reached for her cell phone, then abruptly changed her mind and turned to get her boots instead.

"What are you doing?" Stacey asked, suddenly sounding exhausted.

"Going out." Without waiting for a response from her mother, Erik grabbed an extra pair of clothes and stuffed them into her purse – she didn't even know what she had grabbed, as long as she had something to change into. Grabbing her keys off of her dresser, she left her room and began to make her way toward the stairs.

"Where are you going?" her mother continued questioning, following her steps. "It's after curfew."

"Fuck the goddamned curfews!" Erik snapped, practically running down the stairs and hurrying toward the front door.

"Erika LeAnn Richards! Get in this house!"

The door slammed shut and she was gone.


	2. Xibalba

Chapter Two ::: Xibalba

The engine of the Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle rumbled beneath her, the dark scenery blurring around her as she sped down the streets. Erik didn't know where she was going, and she really didn't care. It didn't matter as long as she was away from that place she was forced to call home. It felt nice to finally be out of that disastrous house – it felt like she was riding toward freedom and it was _amazing. _She just didn't know where her freedom was yet.

The breeze was calming as she drove the Ninja down mostly abandoned roads, though not calming enough to make her anger diminish completely; she was still upset about that nights events and she did not plan to return home anytime soon. Just thinking about what had happened made her angry all over again and the motorcycle began to accelerate more. Luckily for her, the police didn't bother to patrol these streets she was taking – otherwise, she would have been stopped and given a ticket for traveling faster than the posted speed limit. She wasn't quite sure what the limit was on these particular streets, but she figured that she was driving twice as fast, if not more, than what she was supposed to be.

The speed seemed to make the temperature drop around her, the wind biting at her exposed skin and whipping her hair behind her. Erik felt as if she was nearly frozen to the motorcycle, thanks to the fact that she was simply wearing a pair of dark blue boxer shorts and a baggy white T-shirt with her black combat boots. She knew she looked ridiculous, but she had planned to go to bed instead of leaving the house – hence, the extra clothes she had stuffed into her purse.

A violent shiver tore through her and she tensed, waiting for it to stop as she tried to think of something warm; everything resided within the mind and she had learned that thinking of warm places helped when she was cold, and vice versa. However, it didn't seem to work this time – she was just too cold. Then all feelings of being cold were suddenly forgotten as she Ninja jerked beneath her. Startled, Erik held on to the handlebars and tried to keep the motorcycle driving straight as it moved a few more feet down the road. She had been traveling too fast, and now it was causing the bike to swerve toward the side of the street before toppling to the ground beneath her.

Pain seemed to explode from every nerve in her body as she fell off of the motorcycle and slammed down on the road, the course of her fall making her roll across the gravel a few times. The screeching of the tires left a dull ringing in her ears before she heard the Ninja crash into something.

It was as if her heart sank upon hearing that sound and, ignoring the pain throughout her body, she pushed herself up from the street. Glancing around for her motorcycle, she found it at the base of a nearby tree; stepping closer for better inspection, she could see that the front of the bike had crumpled from the impact of hitting the large tree. She could have cried right then and there – that Ninja had been her one pride and joy that had allowed her to escape from her so-called home, and now it was destroyed. Not completely destroyed, and probably fixable, but it was definitely too damaged to ride now.

"What was that sound?"

"Was there an accident?"

"Should I call the police?"

The voices couldn't be heard at first, but they steadily became louder as people began to approach the scene of her wreck.

Funny, she didn't think she had actually been that close to any busy streets. It must have been the next block over to her left, judging by the direction the voices had been coming from.

Erik froze for a moment, unsure of what to do: it would only be right to stay with the motorcycle and have it towed away to be fixed up, but she really did not want to deal with people at the moment. She bit gently on the captive hoop that was pierced on the left side of her bottom lip – a habit she had taken to when she was nervous or when she was simply thinking too much of something.

There wasn't much time for her to think of her options, so she simply acted instead, picking up the Hoodie Bag from its place where it had fallen onto the street. She wanted to move the Ninja, but a small group of people was already approaching the scene so she hurried across the street, moving toward the closest building.

Not even paying attention to what the building looked like, she found a door and went inside, loud music assaulting her as soon as she opened the door. Whatever music was playing seemed to be blaring from all directions as if there were speakers built into the walls.

Erik took a few steps forward in the hallway, unsure of whether she should follow it or return to the cool outdoors. Sighing softly, she glanced around at the aging walls, making sure that there were no visible cameras watching her before she pulled the clothes out of her purse and began to undress. As it turned out, she had grabbed her favorite pair of black pants, but the top was a classic black fishnet shirt with long sleeves. Sighing again, she put the top on over her plain black bra then proceeded to put on her pants and boots, being careful not to further irritate the bleeding scratches or slowly-forming bruises on her pale skin.

After shoving the T-shirt and boxers into her purse, she followed the hallway into a larger room that was filled with dancing people, a small stage set up where a live band was playing at the front of the room. Strangely, the interior of the building reminded her of a church. Hell, for all she knew, it very well could have been a church before it was redesigned to become the Goth club it appeared to be.

For a club, Erik would have expected black lights and disco balls and multi-colored flashing lights, but such things were not found here – it was just normal lighting and a particularly eerie glow directed at the stage. She honestly had no idea what she should do, considering she never went out very often, let alone ever attended a club in the city.

In her slight confusion, she began to push through the mass of constantly moving bodies, finding a small bar on the other side of the room. She immediately took a seat on one of the stools, her blue eyes curiously watching the people around her.

"Whadya want?" a voice said behind her, shouting to be heard over the music.

Turning around in her seat, she looked at the bartender. "Whadya got?" she shouted back, trying to match the man's way of speaking so she wouldn't seem like an obvious newbie.

"Whatever you want, we got it."

"Whiskey," she ordered simply, watching the man turn away to grab the bottle of desired alcohol.

"Interesting choice of drink," a husky voice murmured into her ear.

Erik tried not to act the least bit startled as she slowly turned toward the source of the voice. The tall man sat down on the stool beside her and she followed his movements, admiring the black ink that tattooed most of his right side. As he turned to glance at her, she could see several piercings on the left side of his face. His dyed hair seemed pink-ish as if he had attempted to make it red, she noticed briefly as she examined the tattoos across his face which trailed down his throat to continue down his arm and chest. The ink disappeared beneath the black leather pants he was wearing and she couldn't help but to notice that they were unbuttoned.

She turned her gaze to the glass that the bartender placed in front of her. "Yeah, I guess," she replied to the stranger's statement. "My dad gave me whiskey when I was three, before he suddenly disappeared. I'm used to the stronger stuff." She shrugged as if it didn't matter, but she could feel her heart racing. Why had she just told him that about her father?

Picking up the glass, she took a sip, savoring the burn down her throat before the warmth settled in her stomach.

"Hm… How old are you now?"

Erik set the glass down slowly before turning to look at him again; his brown eyes seemed to be sparkling with amusement, and it made her pulse quicken more, though she couldn't fathom why. "What time is it?"

He glanced behind the bar to look at the digital clock which was sitting on a counter, surrounded by bottles of alcohol. She hadn't even seen it there.

"12:58, in the morning," he read out the glowing red numbers.

"Well…happy birthday to me," she offered an obviously exaggerated smile as she lifted her glass to take another drink. "I'm 18 now."

She expected a lecture about how she shouldn't be partaking in underage drinking, but he stayed silent. She was thankful for that at least.

They were silent for a few more moments before he began to speak again. "Do you get into fights very often?"

She looked at him, an eyebrow raised at his words. "Excuse me?"

He motioned to her face. "A black eye," he glanced down at the skin that was visible through the fishnet shirt. "You are covered in blood and bruises."

She followed his gaze to look down at her battered arm. "Uhm…my motorcycle just got totaled outside. I was driving just a bit too fast." She shrugged her shoulder nonchalantly.

"A motorcycle crash caused you to receive a black eye? Did you hit your face against the handlebars?"

Erik bit on her lip ring, contemplating whether she should come up with an excuse before answering. "My mom's boyfriend slapped me around a bit before I left the house; that's probably why I have a black eye. Then the wreck." She looked down at the alcohol in front of her. "It's not like it hurts or anything. I actually enjoy the pain, crazy as that may sound." She laughed lightly, almost as if she was suddenly becoming shy because she _knew_ it was crazy to enjoy pain.

"That isn't crazy at all. Pain can easily be turned into pleasure," he said, seeming to fully look at her for the first time; his eyes appeared to be filled with a strange form of intrigued interest. It was with his words that she realized that they had not been yelling at each other throughout their entire conversation. The live band was still playing, of course, but when he spoke, it was like she blocked everything else out just so she could hear that voice.

There was another moment of awkward silence between them, even though the room was blaring with noise. She wanted to talk to him, but she was a socially awkward person and had no idea how to start a conversation with another living human. She figured she may as well try to start from the beginning by asking his name, but he beat her to it.

"What is your name?"

"Erik."

An amused expression appeared on his face. "Ah, did your parents think you would be born a boy?"

"No. I chose that name for myself because I hate the name they gave me."

"What was that?"

"Erika LeAnn," she wrinkled her nose with obvious distaste for the name.

"Erik is a good name."

She smiled at what sounded like a compliment. "So what about you?"

"Call me Captain Howdy."

"Captain Howdy?" she grinned. "That's awesome."

He nodded and the awkward silence started again. The minutes passed by and there wasn't another attempt at a conversation.

"I'll…be right back," Erik said just so she was saying something. Without waiting for a response, she moved away from the bar and began to push her way through the crowd. She found the restrooms and rushed inside, locking herself in one of the stalls. She didn't know why she was feeling so nervous about this guy who had randomly tried to talk to her.

_No,_ she thought. She wasn't feeling _nervous_ so much as she was just feeling…weird; she didn't know what it was or how to explain it. Sighing softly, she bit gently at her lip ring as she leaned against the stall door.

:::

At the bar, the pierced and tattooed stranger was sitting casually while he waited for the young girl to return. In actuality, he felt disgusted with himself for the way he was acting so…_nice, _interested in what the girl had to say. He was used to hiding behind the screen name 'CaptHowdy' while he prowled the Teen Chat room on the internet; it was just so much easier.

And then a certain idea had occurred to him one evening, which was now being utilized into this current experiment. It would be more difficult, of course, to catch the prey and draw it in himself. But that is why it is called an experiment.

As the bartender passed by, he lifted his hand slightly. "Another drink for the young woman," he requested.

The bartender grabbed the whiskey bottle and filled up the glass again without question. As soon as he turned his back to replace the bottle, Captain Howdy reached into the pocket of his leather pants and pulled out two small white pills. Dropping them into the girl's glass, he watched as they dissolved almost instantly in the alcohol.

He thought it was rather ironic how an illegal drug was so easy to obtain.

:::

A few more minutes passed before Erik returned to the bar; she didn't bother to explain herself – instead, she immediately reached for her drink, taking a long sip as she sat down on the stool.

"How are you liking Xibalba?" Howdy asked her once she had set the glass down.

"Xibalba?" she repeated the term, an obvious confusion evident in her expression.

He motioned around himself, finding it rather interesting that she had come here without knowing what the place was. "This club, the Entrance to Hell."

Something flickered across her face and he couldn't be sure if it was amusement or fear. No matter, such things were not important.

She opened her mouth, about to say something in reply to his statement, but she was suddenly feeling drowsy. She _knew_ something was wrong. Glancing down at the whiskey, she saw nothing but the alcohol which showed no trace of it having been tampered with. But she _knew…._

She turned to look at the man sitting beside her, a light trace of fear visible in her eyes as she began to stand up slowly. "What did you do?"

The words sounded slurred, as if she were drunk from having too much alcohol, and she couldn't seem to find her footing on the floor beneath her. She had no idea what was happening, but it just felt so _wrong._

She couldn't tell if her body was swaying or if the room was spinning. Then everything seemed to darken and she toppled forward.


End file.
